


Scorched

by flyingllamas



Series: Tales from a lifetime ago (and ones to never be) [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: And Lor'themar probably shouldn't try to flirt with everyone in existence, M/M, Rommath's mouth should probably be scrubbed out with soap at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 17:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingllamas/pseuds/flyingllamas
Summary: Scorched mandalas appear in the woods surrounding Silvermoon.Or, in which Lor'themar meets an anomaly, a caretaker, and a skilled mage wrapped up into one person and manages to shove his foot ever deeper into his mouth.





	Scorched

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely beta'd by Kangoo and Hunterx700.
> 
> Written for theme #98, "Puzzle".
> 
> Takes place several hundred years before canon.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is llamastheflying.tumblr.com if you wanna hit me up with any questions or complaints.

The burnt mandalas showed up in Eversong without much fanfare. 

 

Despite their quiet appearance, their existence quickly whipped the population (and by extension, the Farstriders) into a frenzy. Rumors spread about their origin: some said they were created by a cult of fire mages aiming to burn down Silvermoon, other that they were made by an aspiring artist yet to reveal themselves. The most outlandish rumor of them all is that visitors from another planet, much like the Titans, were visiting Eversong in barge-like ships and that the mandalas were left by their landing. Utterly ridiculous.

 

(He would regret thinking so in the hundreds of years to come)

 

Ranger General Sylvanas had no time for such nonsense and so it fell to the most junior of the captains to handle. Lor’themar wished he could dismiss it off to a Lieutenant because honestly, investigating rumors such as ‘visitors from beyond Azeroth’ were so far below him it wasn’t remotely funny, but he was lectured on the importance of leadership and the pacifying influence of authority. So, off he went.

 

Most of the mandalas were nowhere near the city. Often, they were in places that had Lor’themar leaving his mount behind to scramble up cliff faces or other equally unreachable places. Each time, the mandala was long cold, devoid of the heat that had created it. Each one was beautifully unique and hypnotic.

 

It took him a week to find and map all the mandalas and then a day more when a new one appeared. There didn’t really seem to be a pattern to where exactly they appeared. Lor’themar tried walking the designs of the mandalas to see if they made sense as far as runes were concerned, but only ended up making himself dizzy. This was a puzzle that, unfortunately, he was not able to solve on his own.

 

He reported his dismal progress to King Anasterian and Sylvanas with ash-tipped gloves. Neither seemed particularly concerned about it. Indeed, Anasterian said, it could just be the work of a young mage dodging the watchful eye of a master. As if to prove his point, a plume of flame erupted in the back of the throne room.

 

Neither Anasterian or Sylvanas were surprised, but it made Lor’themar start. Vicious swearing soon followed as an elf about his age with dark hair chased after a young prince Kael’thas, who shot out another plume of flame towards his pursuer. The prince’s caretaker parted the flames with his own spell and caught him. The caretaker wore light, violet apprentice robes with the sleeves caught up around his elbows, scorch marks prevalent on the fabric that had not escaped the grasp of whatever magic he practiced. A strange peculiarity was the collar the caretaker had affixed to it, which hid near half his face. 

 

“Rommath,” Anasterian called and the elf froze. It was obvious that he just realized his intrusion on official proceedings. “What think you about this dilemma?”

 

Stashing the young prince under one arm in a rather ungraceful way after placing a silencing spell upon on him the caretaker spoke.

 

“I must admit that I do not know the problem at hand, sire.”

 

“Nonsense. Kael’thas was likely eavesdropping, which means that by extension you probably were as well. Where is your other charge?”

 

Another elven child peeked around thick purple curtains at them, his fiery red hair caught in a braid that draped over his shoulder. The caretaker held out the hand that wasn’t fighting with keeping the rambunctious prince still and the child ran to him, burying his face in his robes. 

 

“Now that Aethas has been found, the question, Rommath,” said Anasterian. It was not quite an order but the tone in which he spoke bequeathed that he would witness no waffling or dodging on the caretaker’s part.

 

“My liege, I believe it is as you say,” said Rommath. His head bowed slightly behind his high collar, the picture of demureness if Lor’themar did not see the fire in eyes or the unhappy stretch of his lips. “A student is most likely practicing out of the sight of prying eyes. Perhaps the silence of the forest gives them something they cannot otherwise find here, in the city.”

 

“Hmm. In any case, I would like you to continue to monitor Eversong for the appearance of new mandalas, Lor’themar,” Anasterian said. “Rommath, Lor’themar, you are dismissed.”

 

Lor’themar bowed and turned on his heel to leave.

 

“Wait, Rommath,” Sylvanas called. “I recognize your face. Did you try out for the Farstriders, perhaps?”

 

The elf’s eyebrows pinched closer together if possible.

 

“Yes, Ranger General, I did. I was told that the magic arts were not suitable in the protection of Silvermoon to the extent of the Farstriders and that my skill with the bow was abysmal enough that I would be outshot by a blind, leperous troll, as according to your sister.”

 

Sylvanas snorted in a rather unladylike fashion but then again, nothing about the Windrunner sisters was considered terribly proper.

 

“Ah, I thought I recognized your face,” she said. “You may go.”

 

When both Rommath and Lor’themar were outside the room, the ranger let out a chuckle.

 

“A blind, leperous troll? Truly?” The tips of Rommath’s ears and cheeks flushed red as he set the prince down on the floor. 

 

“I do believe that is none of your business, captain,” he snapped. “Good day, Lor’themar.”

 

Kael’thas stormed off down the hallway and Rommath followed close behind. His curiosity not yet satisfied (and flirting not yet done, for even Lor’themar could see the handsomeness of the elf behind the collar), Lor’themar followed.  Rommath had yet to let off the effects of his silencing spell yet, for nothing came out when Kael’thas opened his mouth to let out a holler. The other child, Aethas, was content to cling to Rommath’s robes silently and stare up at Lor’themar with wide eyes.

 

Lor’themar stepped in front of Rommath to cut him off and was rewarded with an angry huff.

 

“Can you not handle jest when it is in your direction then?” 

 

“In my direction, yes, but not at my expense,” said Rommath. “My charge is escaping to wreak yet more mayhem and may yet burn down our city if your incompetence keeps me here much longer. Good day, Captain Theron.”

 

Rommath swiftly stepped around him, a hand on Aethas’ head, as he continued to pursue the Prince. Lor’themar watched after him, a bit startled and confused. Most would recognize his flirting for what it was and more still reciprocated. It was jolting to be rejected summarily.

 

Tail between his legs, Lor’themar headed back out to the forest after restocking his supplies. A few days camping among the golden landscape of the woods was his cure for all ills, a bruised ego included. Complying with the king’s orders was an added bonus.

 

The first day went as expected with little to show for in the way of threats or new mandalas as he forayed deeper into the wilds. On the first night, he settled up in a tree and watched the fireflies skip across the surface of a pond as he settled down to sleep. The second day found him truly in the thoroughfare. The morning was quiet as fog lifted from the sleeping forest, but come afternoon he found something waiting for him.

 

Or rather, someone.

 

Lor’themar found himself wandering the edge of a small cliff, a familiar route he went through to catch Trolls hoping the shelter beneath it, when he saw the elf standing below the cliff in a sloped clearing leading down to a clear lake, their back to him. At first, he didn’t recognize them. His only thought was that they must be in trouble, to be out so far without wearing Farstrider armor. Indeed the elf seemed to be wearing very little, clothed in a sleeveless white shirt and pants that reached mid calf. The lone elf had also forsaken shoes.

 

Before he was able to lift his feet to run to their aid, the elf  _ exploded _ into a plume of flame that didn’t  quite touch the ground at their feet. It lashed up above the treeline, roaring loud enough that Lor’themar’s ears hurt from his position, before finally relinquishing its quarry. The elf seemed none the worse for the flames, but now had something in their hands.

 

Alarmed, Lor’themar crept closer. Thankfully, the other elf still had their back to him as he quickly and silently scaled a tree to get a more birds eye view of what the odd elf was doing. He (or at least, Lor’themar assumed so) twirled the odd objects in his hands, which appeared to be odd serpentine pieces of metal, sharpened on both the inner and outer curves of their S-like shapes with leather binding in the middle. 

 

The elf swayed in place and at first, Lor’themar thought he would see the strange elf drop before his eyes in a dead faint. The sway turned into more, as the elf finally stepped out of his stance in a deliberate manner, blades spinning in his hold. Lor’themar stared, dumbstruck. Was he... _ dancing? _

 

He wasn’t given much time to ponder the dancing when the flames started up once more. They wove in and out of each other, spiralling through the air but never quite hitting the ground. The dancing elf seemed to be trapped in a cage of living flame that curled up above the tallest trees towards the setting sun. Even as he twisted and turned, he was still too far away for Lor’themar to clearly see he face.

 

The elf’s movements finally slowed as the sun almost dipped below the horizon, the flames of his dance lighting the area more than the light of the sunset. The flames gracefully fell, settling themselves onto the grass and searing a familiar pattern. The elf’s chest heaved out panting breaths from the effort of the dance and the magic as Lor’themar finally dropped from his perch.

 

“You!” he cried out as he slid down the cliff side as fast as he dared. The elf went rigid, obviously shocked by Lor’themar’s sudden appearance, before magic swirled around his hands. A teleportation spell, if Lor’themar’s eyes saw correctly.

 

Lor’themar lept at him and tackled the mage to the ground, the magic of the spell cutting off abruptly. The mage dropped the serpentine blades and twisted around in his grasp to fight him. The two rolled and rolled down the uneven ground before crashing to a stop against a tree a short ways away from the lake. Thankfully, Lor’themar wrestled his way on top, straddling the elf below him and pinning his hands above his head.

 

“...Rommath?” Sure enough, the prince’s caretaker snarled at him, expression clear without the usual collar hiding his face.

 

“Get off me!” Rommath’s body bucked but Lor’themar let his full weight drop. Rommath grunted in pain but still writhed, nearly dislodging Lor’themar. The amount of strength in the man’s body was impressive. Most mages he knew cared more for mind than body. Rommath obviously was attentive to both.

 

Rommath twisted and Lor’themar chose to take a chance to pin him down once more. It was a bit easier to keep him down this way, but Lor’themar feared that if his concentration lapsed for a second that he would have a scorched face and an escaped mage. He let Rommath struggle for a few moments more before the mage finally gave up. He looked back over his shoulder at Lor’themar and glared. Lor’themar glared right back.

 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t truss you up like a hog and deliver you to the king,” Lor’themar said.

 

“I have several, if you would let me go,” Rommath snapped back.

 

“Why are you out here, dancing? What is it supposed to do?” Rommath’s face flushed a violent shade of red to the very roots of his hair.

 

“Dancing?  _ Dancing? _ I was going through training katas, you incorrigible simpleton! Not dancing!”

 

“Training?”

 

“Yes, training!” Rommath snapped. “Some of us aren’t handed our lots in life on a silver platter by virtue of our birth. Some of us needed to crawl and scramble from the muddy pits where our ancestors wallowed to our current stations in life!”

 

“But you were rejected by the Farstriders,” said Lor’themar. Rommath growled low in his chest. “You have no need for this.”

 

“Yes, thank you, I had no idea that I suffered the most humiliating rejection in my life to date,” sniped Rommath. “I still must keep myself in shape if I am to adequately protect my charge. It is only by the everlasting grace of King Anasterian that I continue my studies into the magical arts and that is by virtue of minding his hell-cat of a son. Now, will you let me up?”

 

“Not yet,” said Lor’themar. “I still have questions. Why train out this far? And why lie to the king? That’s tantamount to treason, you know.” 

 

Rommath sighed and pressed his forehead to the cool grass beneath them. The sun had finally set, leaving behind a forest only lit by fireflies and moonlight.

 

“You’re an only son, aren’t you?” Rommath suddenly asked.

 

“I fail to see how this has any bearing on the matters at hand,” said Lor’themar dryly. 

 

“I can tell you are, because I wouldn’t have to say this if you were. Have you ever tried to practice or train with small children under your feet? It is truly an exercise in patience. One will be asking you endless, nattering questions while the other puts in the most valiant effort to impale himself on your blades. Ultimately, nothing is accomplished.”

 

“Then why not train at the Farstriders’ grounds?” Lor’themar asked. “Surely, as a member of the royal entourage you would be granted access.”

 

“And face what mockery happened today with both you and your Ranger General? Please.”

 

The defeated look on the mage’s face tugged at something in Lor’themar’s chest.

 

“Truly, I did not mean to insult you today,” he said softly. “I meant only to make conversation with you.”

 

“Your conversational skills are extremely lacking then, if you choose to open with a bald-faced insult. May I get up now?”

 

“One last thing,” said Lor’themar. “Your lie to the king?”

 

“He asked me what I thought of the situation,” Rommath said. “I told him the truth: a young student, wishing for peace. He did not ask me to name a culprit.”

 

“Fair,” Lor’themar said and stood up. Rommath rolled over, wincing in pain as his muscles protested the rough treatment. “I do hope you know that I will need to inform the king of my findings now...but I think he will be most lenient when he hears the reason you kept it from him.”

 

Rommath sighed and accepted Lor’themar’s outstretched hand. Lor’themar pulled him gracefully to his feet. 

 

“All good things must come to an end, I suppose,” murmured Rommath.

 

“I do not think he will call an end to your activities,” said Lor’themar. “Truly, I think he will be relieved that we are not contending with visitors from beyond our world.”

 

Finally, the sour twist of Rommath’s face disappeared and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he breathed out a quiet laugh.

 

“Truly, is that what has been said about this?”

 

“I thought you were listening in to our proceedings,” Lor’themar said. He tried not to stare as Rommath shucked off his sweat stained shirt and summoned his usual attire from seemingly thin air. His opinion of the serious elf had not soured despite their confrontation and had perhaps improved through it. 

 

“I accompanied the prince in his eavesdropping, yes, but I did not participate in it,” Rommath said. “I will not stoop to the level of a child if I need information. As well, it is sometimes best to let the princeling have some slack in his leash if I expect him to behave when I need him to. He did not like my intrusion, however, which led to our discovery.”

 

“Ah,” Lor’themar said, rather distracted. Rommath had wandered down to the lake at the bottom of the slope, obviously intending to bathe. Rommath looked back at him, irritated expression crawling back onto his face.

 

“I believe I have answered your questions sufficiently,” he said. “You may leave now, Ranger.”

 

“I am a captain, thank you very much,” Lor’themar told him as he meandered up to Rommath’s side, trying to make no secret of his interest in looking the bare-chested mage up and down. The tattoos on his arms continued in a barred pattern on his chest that he found extremely pleasing to look at and he wondered if Rommath would cry out in pleasure if he ran his tongue over them. “And you have, but I wish to bathe as well after our little fight. May I join you?”

 

Rommath’s mouth twisted up into a smile.

 

“Of course, captain,” he purred as he approached Lor’themar, standing chest to chest with him. His eyes were half lidded and Lor’themar had to swallow the lump of desire building in his throat. “Let me...help you!”

 

Lor’themar suddenly found himself careening backwards as Rommath’s hands slammed into his chest. His Farstrider armor did him no favors when he landed in the lake, leaving Rommath hiccuping out bright laughter on the shore. The ranger tried to give him the nastiest glare he could, but it only caused Rommath to laugh more.

 

“For the sake of Silvermoon and her people, captain,” Rommath said, “do attempt to think with your brain and not your cock once in a while. Not everyone should be treated as either a potential conquest or enemy.”

 

Rommath approached the water’s edge and held out a hand. Lor’themar tried to pull him in by it but Rommath would not budge, strong as he was. Lor’themar gave up and let the mage pull him to his feet.

 

“Fine,” he said. “I suppose I can promise that.”

 

“Excellent,” said Rommath. “I don’t think either of us are going to get to bathe before going back home. I suppose I could teleport us both back to Silvermoon though...if you promise to cease your harassment of me.”

 

“I suppose I could do that, for now,” grumbled Lor’themar and Rommath rolled his eyes as he put back on the dirty shirt. 

 

“That’s really all I can hope for, from someone like yourself,” he said as his hands began to trace the familiar teleportation runes. Lor’themar pressed himself to Rommath’s side and draped an arm casually around his waist. 

 

Rommath shot him a glare but said nothing other than, “You’re dripping on me.”

 

“That tends to happen when one is pushed into a lake, yes.”

 

“I trust that you will remove your arm upon our arrival,” Rommath said almost too casually.

 

“Oh?”

 

“...or risk losing it.” 

 

With a flash, Lor’themar found himself in an unfamiliar garden, obviously within Silvermoon. If he was a little slow in removing his arm from Rommath’s slender waist, well…

 

Rommath was none the smarter.


End file.
